


What About His Looks?

by madwriter223



Series: AllMother Sif, the Series [11]
Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Did I Mention Angst?, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Racism, Self-Hatred, Sif if Trying, Sif is Really Trying, a lot of it, a teeny bit, really hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 18:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6125959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madwriter223/pseuds/madwriter223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Chapter 7]<br/>Should she ignore them? Should she try to change them? Or should she tolerate them, treat them as something natural?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What About His Looks?

Sif's whole body tensed the moment she saw him, years of battle instincts telling her exactly what she should do. Then she blinked and her breath caught in her throat. Loki. This was _Loki_ , she reminded herself firmly. Little, sweet Loki. Loki, whom Thor loved from the depths of his heart. Loki, whom Sif was supposed to love now.

Sif took a deep breath and forced herself to unclench her hand and release her sword. Think like a mother, she reminded herself. A mother doesn't care how her child looks like as long as it's clean and healthy and happy.

She had to keep repeating that to herself over and over. She kept that thought in her head until they were back in Asgard and Loki had ran off to play with Volstagg's children. She stared after him, her jaw clenched tight. The thought was still echoing inside her head. She couldn't risk it going quiet.

*~*

Sif managed to keep a hold of herself till she was back in her and Thor's wing. She ordered the guards not to disturb her no matter what they heard then stepped into their private chambers. Once the doors closed behind her, she took a deep breath and allowed her bubbling emotions to boil over. She let out an enraged roar and punched a wall with all her strength. She did it over and over, again and again. She might've kept it up until all the bones in her hands shattered, but someone grabbed her from behind. Sif whirled around and kicked whoever it was in the stomach.

That someone turned out to be Thor. Despite the hit, he still managed to hold on to one of her arms. “Sif!” he grunted. “What's wrong? What has happened?”

Sif stared at him, her breathing erratic. She felt as if her lungs no longer worked as they should. That they were failing her, like her instincts did. “I wanted to kill him.” She said, forcing the words off of her tongue. There, it was out. The truth.

Her throat tightened and she felt sick.

“Kill who?” Thor demanded, brows knitted with worry.

She barely heard him over the roar in her ears. “I wanted to kill him. I wanted to grab my sword and run it through his monstrous _spine_!”

“SIF!” Thor grabbed her arms and shook her. She answered with a punch to his jaw.

He staggered back and rubbed the reddening spot. “What is _wrong_?!” he demanded, a note of desperation in his voice.

Sif stared at him, her breathing still too fast. She couldn't deal with this just standing there. So she sat down onto the floor. It was still not enough, so she tipped onto her back and spread her limbs across the floor. She took a deep trembling breath and forced herself to hold it for ten seconds. She exhaled slowly, counting to eight until her lungs were empty. She repeated it until she no longer felt as if she was going to jump out of her skin.

Thor sat down next to her, his face still twisted with worry. “Sif. Please tell me what has go you in such a state.”

Sif stared at the ceiling and felt nausea churn in her belly. “Loki met a new friend today.”

Thor frowned at the change of topic, but didn't comment.

Sif continued. “The boy is apparently part Jotunn. He was blueish and his magic was mostly connected with ice.” She paused, remembering. “As they were playing, Loki responded and-” she swallowed thickly and her hands clenched into fists. “He turned into his Jotunn skin. He was- He was _blue_. He had scars and markings all over his face and his eyes-” She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “His eyes were red like the treacherous fires of Muspelheim.”

Thor pursed his lips. “You knew he is of Jotunn blood. You've seen his hands turn blue from touching something too cold. Many times.”

“I know. But actually seeing him- all of him...” She closed her eyes and refused to let her tears fall. “The moment I saw him I wanted to slay him. I wanted to kill him when he stood.” She opened her eyes and stared unseeing at the ceiling. Her boiling emotions calmed, and she felt empty. Empty without the anger she'd directed at herself, at her own instincts. “I had already grabbed my sword when I recognized him. And for a moment longer, I still wanted to strike him down. He smiled and waved at me, and I was still contemplating how much force I'd have to apply to render his head from his shoulders.”

Thor was pale, but his eyes were hard. “Do you still wish to?”

Sif was silent. Loki was a Jotunn and Sif had been raised on tales of how monstrous and savage those beasts are. Sixty percent of her warrior training had been spent on attacking training dummies that were made in the image of the Jotnar. Sif recognized that she, as well as most of the warriors in Asgard, had been conditioned to hate and kill the Jotnar on sight. It was a major reason why peaceful relations with the Jotnar were so difficult for the Aesir.

Loki had looked at her with his red eyes and smiled at her with his blue lips. And it took Sif a moment too long to let go of her sword. But let go she did. “No. I do not want him dead.” she replied softly, the words heavy on her tongue. For that short moment, she had wanted to bathe her hands in the blood of the savage beast. For that short moment, she hadn't cared that it was _Loki_. She felt as if she wronged not just him, but herself as well. “I am supposed to be the _AllMother_. How can I be that if the mere visage of an innocent child makes me wish to run them through with my sword? I am supposed to be as a mother to Loki, but how can I? A mother is supposed to accept all that their children are. How can I have the audacity to call myself a mother if a part of the one child in my immediate care makes me desire his brutal death?” She shuddered, and clenched her eyes shut. The mere thought of what she had wanted to do made her earlier nausea return.

Thor didn't answer. He didn't even look at her, he stared off into space instead. Eventually, he started speaking.

“When we were still on Midgard, and Loki had still been causing trouble, there were times when he...” Thor fell silent, considering how to phrase what he needed to say. Sif watched him, waiting for him to continue. “Sometimes, during battles, I would manage to get close enough to grab him. Most times, Loki would evade my grasp or repel me with the aid of his magic or the weapon he'd be using at the time. But sometimes.” Thor licked his lips, remorse clear on his face. “Sometimes he would take on his True Skin and face me with a manic grin. It was in those moments that I truly saw how unwell he was. Yet I couldn't stand the sight of him. It repulsed me. The first time he'd done that, I had flinched away from him.” His voice dropped down into a soft murmur. “In those times I could clearly see... how he was suffering and how he needed proper care. And I couldn't bring myself to touch him.” Thor sighed. “For all my talk of brotherhood and love, the mere sight of his blood-red eyes made my skin crawl. It took me months to finally be able to touch him in his True Skin, and it took months more before I could touch him without feeling disgusted. And by that time his mind had been so diminished in his madness that he had barely resembled himself, even in his lucid moments.” Thor was silent for a spell, remembering. Sif was still watching him, content to let him speak in peace.

Finally, Thor met her gaze with a remorseful expression. “I know that Loki carried that same revulsion to the Jotnar. I am certain it is one, if not _the_ main reason for his breakdown before he fell. I vowed to myself that I would not allow that to happen again.”

And so far, Thor had always kept this vow. He had banned the tales of glory against 'Jotunn scum' from being sang in the castle. He had ordered the royal scribes to write books about the true culture and society of Jotunheim and not just about how savagely they had fought during the wars. He'd signed a permanent peace treaty with Helblindi King, they were even planning an official delegation for the next solstice celebration. So that their two nations could celebrate together as friends.

Thor had even located the old Royal Family Tree Tapestry, the one that had a portrait of each member stitched right by their name. Thor had ordered it to be repaired and cleaned, then had commissioned the palace seamstresses to add in Sif, Loki and himself. The tapestry had originally been put away during the Great War with Jotunheim, when Thor had still been a babe, too young to be included Thor had ordered the restored tapestry to be hung in the throne room. He'd also had two smaller copies made, and those were hung in the official reception chambers and in the palace main hall. So that all of Asgard could see the entire line of their Royal Family; Queen Bestla, mother of Odin and blue as a summer sky, included.

Thor AllFather had done much. What had Sif AllMother done, other than support his every decision on the matter?

“Sif.” Thor's tone was as grave as his expression. “I need to know if you will help me raise Loki as he deserves to be raised. I refuse to spell-bind his True Skin away.”

“I'm not asking you to.” Sif interrupted him.

He gave her a grateful smile. “I know. But Loki is a child. He will not understand why you flinch away or grab your sword whenever he turns blue.” It was true. Sif had been tense and angry at herself on their trip back from the park, and Loki had noticed immediately. He'd looked at her with worry and asked whether she was feeling well. He'd asked asked whether her illness was returning. Loki had worried about her, and she wanted to kill him. Mothers didn't think like that. She couldn't allow herself to think like that.

Thor took a deep breath. “I know that I cannot expect you to deal with this within a single day, when I myself struggled with it for many months.” He spoke, but she was quick to interrupt him.

“I think I shall do exactly that.” Sif stated and sat up.

Thor's brows knitted together. “Do what? Struggle with it for many months or deal with it within a single day?”

“Neither of those.” Sif took a deep breath, steeling her resolve. “I shall deal with it, as you said. However it will take me much less time than it had taken you.” She smirked teasingly. “You know I like a good challenge.”

Thor chuckled. He knew how stubborn she could be, so he didn't argue. “You do indeed. But are you confident enough to risk Loki?”

She glanced away and thought of the entire difficult situation. This felt like an impossible task, but she had to do it. Loki was a child in her care, so Sif needed to deal with this as a mother would. As a mother should. “I swear I won't let him feel my disgust.”

“For now, it shall be enough.” Thor clapped her on the shoulder and stood. “Will you be joining Loki and I for evening meal?”

Sif stood as well. “Of course. One family meal every day. We've always enforced it and I see no reason to stop now.” She paused and stood as well. “Though don't expect much conversation from me. I have much to think about.” 

“I understand.” Thor stroked her cheek with a soft look on his face. “Should I leave you alone with your thoughts for now?”

Sif felt grateful Thor knew her well enough to what she needed. “Yes. Come collect when it time for evening meal.”

“As you wish.” Thor left her then. She walked over to the window and sank down onto the seetee opposite it. She needed to think.

*~*

That same evening, after Loki had been put to bed, Sif decided a brief trip outside the Palace would help clear her thoughts. She took off her royal insignia and went to the tavern. She'd been a frequent patron here when she'd been younger. Now that she was Queen, she still visited the establishment, though much more rarely. She mostly went when she truly needed to unwind, and for some reason the tavern was the one place she felt like she _could_ relax. Surrounded by loud drunken tales, raucous laughter and the occasional fistfight, she'd feel the knots in her shoulders loosen. She got lost in the chaos around her, and it suited her just fine.

Of course, even without her insignia, everyone knew who she was. She had been well-known as Lady Sif and becoming Queen Sif had just made her more memorable. Thankfully, the other patrons knew enough not to bother her. Those few that did she either sent on their way with firm words or simply punched them out. It all depended on their level of drunkenness. And her mood.

Tonight though, the tavern with its jovial atmosphere was not having the desired effect. She still felt tense. The desire for violence thrummed under her skin. She couldn't let it lose, though. She doubted she'd be able to stop, considering the mood she was in.

Instead, she listened to the conversations around her. And the more she listened, the worse she felt. Among the usual boasts about daily successes and gossips mixed in with anecdotes, there were tales of the War. Full of derisive words and mocking laughter about the Jotnar. Too many to ignore. Monsters, savages, mindless beasts. Sif listened to tales of how the Jotnar were slayed during the War, she heard jokes of how vicious they were just before being struck down. How primitive they were, barely more than animals.

The more Sif heard, the worse she felt. She knew that each of those tales were painted with prejudice and hate, nothing more than twisted views remaining after the War. She knew it was unfair to judge an entire race for how they acted when attacked. And yet Sif automatically wanted to side with the teller of each tale. Because he was Aesir and they were Jotnar, ergo they _had_ to be in the wrong.

Now that she was aware of it, it felt just like others saying Sif couldn't be a warrior because she was a girl. She'd hated that in others, and she couldn't allow it to continue within herself. Not just for Loki.

A gale of laughter from her left, and Sif focused on that conversation. She listened to the amusing details of how a Jotunn's blood sprayed all around once his head had been cut off. The man's companions all cheered, and a new thought struck her.

What if Loki heard? What if he heard all this vitriol and hate, aimed at all of his kind?

Sif felt sick. She couldn't let Loki hear it. It didn't even matter that Loki didn't know the truth about himself yet. That it would be many centuries before he would be old enough to know. She couldn't allow this prejudice to poison how he saw himself. Thor had done much to end the prejudice against the Jotnar. What had Sif done?

“You're right, my friends! The Jotnar are only good as fodder for our weapons!”

“The only good Jotunn is one split open by a sword wielded by a righteous hand!”

“To the monstrous beasts! May they provide endless entertainment!”

“ **How dare you?!** ” Sif heard herself shout. “You dare insult the House of Odin?!” She jumped to her feet and stalked towards the group.

“I did not such thing!” One of the warriors protested, and she bared her teeth at him. 

“You insulted the Jotnar!” She snarled.

“As I should! They are mindless savage beasts!”

“Have you forgotten that Queen Bestla was from Jotunheim?” She seethed. He obviously had, as his eyes widened. She continued undeterred, her rage clear in her voice. “You dare spit on the memory of our past Queen? You dare insult Odin as he bears her blood? As Thor does, as Loki does! As my children will! Do you mock the cradle of the future princes and princesses, as they will also have Jotunn blood?!” She paused, her expression hard as stone. “You dare insult the Royal Family?!”

He wouldn't meet her rageful gaze. “My apologies, Your Highness. I was out of line.”

She narrowed her eyes in a vicious glare. “Get out of my sight before I take retribution from your ill-bred hide.”

He scurried away like a chastened rat. They all did. The whole tavern was deathly silent. 

Sif wrinkled her nose and stalked away. Everyone moved out of her way, as her continued displeasure was apparent. She felt disgusted with them all. Herself included.

*~*

During the next several days, Sif thought long on how to best deal with this situation. She couldn't expect never to see Loki's True Skin again. This time around, it wasn't spell-bound out of sight. It was only natural that it would continue popping up here and there, especially during the winter season. It was pure chance it hadn't happened before. Or in the middle of Asgard.

Her own prejudice couldn't cloud her interactions with Loki. She had given her solemn vow to help raise him, to care and protect and provide for him if need be. She'd promised to try and love him. She was AllMother, she was _supposed_ to love him. Mothers loved the children in their care. Mothers loved their children.

Sif couldn't do that yet. Not fully.

So Sif read. She went to the library and read through the books on the Jotnar Thor'd had commissioned. She'd read about their history, about their culture and traditions, about their laws. She studied their biology and the ice-abilities all Jotnar shared. She read about their folklore and the tales they raised their whelps on. No, their children. The tales they raised their children on. 

She read everything there was in order to push past her own ingrained prejudice. She needed to see past the beasts she saw them as and see them as the People there were. They were of Jotunheim, which was part of Yggdrasil, the Hub of the Seven Realms. They had to be more than just mindless beasts.

And they were. Their laws were harsh, but hardly primitive. Their written language seemed to consist of dots and lines scratched into the ice, but each one held a meaning as complex as a page from a book. Their culture was connected to their realm, and they worshiped it as if Jotunheim was a Mother to them all. As if Jotunheim was their AllMother.

It took some time to reconcile the two images in her mind. Centuries would pass before she could completely accomplish her goal. After a lifetime of believing them to be savage beasts, it took constant effort on her part to not think like that anymore. She did her best, but the prejudice she'd been raised in shined through in her thoughts. She'd see Loki and his part-Jotunn friend and think 'freaks' before she reminded herself that they were 'children'. She'd see an illustration in one of the books on the Jotnar and think 'monstrous' before she pointed out to herself that it was just 'different'. Even during official delegations, she'd greet the Jotunn ambassadors and think 'monster' or 'beast' before she forced herself to think 'person' and 'guest'. 

But she never reached for her sword again.

After each such a secret slip of hers, she always went to the library and read or re-read something about the Jotnar to remind herself. Over time, it became easier and easier to let go of her automatic negative thoughts, though still they came. Like a stubborn leech that would not separate from her back.

She still had a long way to go. She was nowhere near ready to actually travel to Jotunheim, for example. Despite all of her progress, she knew she'd react badly. And she refused to be a cause of another Asgard-Jotunheim incident.

But she had achieved her initial goal, she was proud to admit to herself. It had take her a decade, but she'd done it. When Loki ran up to her, blue as the water in the river, and presented her with an ice-dagger he had formed himself, Sif did not flinch. She looked into his red eyes without disgust and was able to give the boy an honest smile. It was an impressive dagger, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Sif is trying double hard in this chapter. Sorry if it felt a bit rushed, I wanted to keep the 'one issue per chapter' pattern. Sif's actual mental and emotional progress will take her at least a few centuries longer. It's slow going.  
> The next chapter will be on the 6th.


End file.
